Sudden flight of birds
by Marayanna
Summary: „I saw eight birds. The Twins, the Lover, the Protector, the Lonely Journal Keeper, the Peacemaker, the Wordless One. And the Hunger." The thrall of relics is strong but the thrall of the Light itself is stronger.


There's eight of them in the beginning. John is the second in command, his main role keeping order on the ship and amongst the crew. He's good at that, he likes to think, even though this is the toughest group of people he's ever had to work with so far. They're all starry eyed and full of excitement that seems to grow with each day that brings them closer to leaving the planet, leaving the universe.

As for John, for the most part he is just tired. He doesn't believe in some higher goals of this mission like Davenport does, doesn't have Barry's overabundant curiousity or Lucretia's quiet drive. He's just very good at his job, efficient and smart, and that's what the IPRE was looking for when they chose him. At least one person with both legs firmly on the ground, ready to anchor all those idealistic dreamers if need be. He thinks he's up to task, for a few months.

But then the end of the world happens, their mission and his plans suddenly becoming very small and insignificant.

The monstrosity that chases them is unpredictable and wild, and all the more frightening because of it. John thinks of the rabid animals trashing without a care of hurting themselves, of the forces of nature enormous and unstoppable. They follow no logic and stop at nothing, and all you can do is brace for the impact.

They run as fast as their little bond engine can carry them, but it's never fast enough, never farther than one world away. They are unsure of what they should do, what they _could_ do, and so they try to save the worlds they come across and make a difference in this neverending path of destruction. Taako comes up with brilliant plans, one after another, but they all fail. Merle befriends people and gives them hope, but they all die, or come very close to.

John watches them, quietly, and keeps order on the ship.

It's not that he doesn't like the crew. He does. He lets himself relax during dinners, smiles at jokes and pranks, spends quiet evenings reading with Lucretia or playing chess with Merle. He holds Magnus when he crumbles, and Lup, and Barry, and says nothing as they repeatedly, invariably pull themselves back together. He likes them, and that's why it hurts to see them like this, frenzied, tired, _hopeful._

John knows there's nothing they can do about the force following them. Once the avalanche catches you, you can struggle and fight, but there is no real way to stay afloat.

He looks at them, struggling and fighting anyway, and feels very tired.

He argues about it with Davenport, but only once.

_All those crazy plans and strategies_, he says, cold and stiff. _Look at our crew, look at their hopeful faces. You make them believe we can win, and it's cruel because we both know there's no way out of this, just no way. You are the captain. Make them finally face the truth. _

And Davenport looks stricken at that, then sad, sadder than John has ever seen him. He grips John shoulders and John is surprised at how strong his hands are, how warm.

_We _will _make it, _Davenport says, and there's a conviction in his voice that John does not understand. _Trust in me, if you can't trust in yourself. We. Will. Make it._

He really believes it, John thinks dumbly, he's as naïve as the rest of them. And the feeling of being utterly alone hits him like a punch to the chest, leaves him breathless and cold.

The Light whispers to them.

Once they discover that finding the Light is the best way to keep planets safe, they spend each year looking for it relentlessly. At the beginning, the whispers are quiet enough to dismiss, to think them misheard, imagined. But then the Light starts promising things they desire so deeply, they wish for so fervently, that it's impossible to misunderstand what's happening. They ignore it the best they can, hide the captured Light where they are unable to hear it sing. They know what happens in myths to heroes too careless with their greed, after all.

And yet they have no choice but to face their temptation year after year, and even though they become stronger, the Light does too. It is, perhaps, the most cruel test of fortitude in the history of the universe.

_Ascension_, it whispers to John. _Power. No fear, ever again. Ultimate order. No force that could stand against you ever again. _

They could have expected that it would be him who finally breaks, John thinks as he calmly takes the Light in his hands. There's a rush of power, of adrenaline, and then he finally, finally has his peace.

The Hunger used to be like a bomb going off. Sudden, violent and over soon.

It changes.

Ever since John joined it, the Hunger gained something they are too scared to call a sentience, but which can't be anything else. Its attacks became tactical, its moves cornering. They manage to run away each year, but every time it's more and more harrowing, more and more dangerous.

And the worst thing is, John knows them well. He knows how they think, what they expect and what they don't, knows their fall back plans and strategies. They can't run, they can't hide, they just have to face him, year after year, and pray that they will be fast enough, smart enough. When the year begins to end, they live in a permanent fear of his arrival.

The Light keeps falling.

And their new theory and grim suspicion is that the Hunger doesn't really hunt the Light to devour it, destroying the worlds it comes across only as a means to get to its primary goal. No, the Light is the homing beacon, guiding the Hunger to come and eat the words it chooses, the worlds that are luxurious and rich.

The Light calls, and John follows.

Merle learns Parlay and they play chess again.

John enjoys that, as much as enjoying anything is possible for him anymore. He is one of many now, devourer and devoured, leading the Hunger but being obedient to it. There's constant buzzing in his head these days. He tells himself it is all worth it.

Merle asks him why, and John laughs, because how can he explain the pointlessness of their lives now, if he wasn't able to do it for all those years? Merle asks him if they are still friends, and John feels cold, and powerful, and still very, very tired, too tired to wonder about things like that.

So he kills Merle. Over and over and over again.

They destroy the Light.

Or, at least, that's what they plan to do. They break it into seven relics and pray they will be too weak to call for the Hunger, too weak to tempt them anymore.

They wonder, much later, if it was the thrall of her relic that pushed Lucretia to do what she did. If it promised her safety, if only she'll be brave enough to reach for it.

They fall apart after that, broken and forgotten, but the relics are still there, still singing their siren's song to pull them in.

The Gauntlet promises Lup peace, and so she goes and never comes back. The Sash tells Merle about abundance and prosperity, the Stone whispers to Taako about riches. Barry desires strength to protect, strength to save, and Davenport hears about answers he so badly wants. Magnus comes so very, very close to getting his wife back.

They created those relics, poured their skills and hopes into them, prayed to heavens _let it work, please, let it work._ And the relics listened.

And then the eighth bird, the Hunger, finds them again.

But the world has heard the Voidfish song by then and they know what they are fighting with. The rest of the birds have something they never had before – the strength of the whole world behind them, the sea of people who are angry, ready and determined. The seven of them were broken, but they pull themselves back together right before John's eyes, and they struggle and fight, still frenzied and tired, still _hopeful._

And John is powerful, yes, but more than that he's cold, and tired, and he doesn't know if the buzzing in his head is his own thoughts or the Hunger, anymore. And when they strike him down, standing side by side like a family, in their eyes he sees pity and sadness.

They never lost their naivety, it seems, and John lets himself find comfort in that.

In the end, there is a beach, and a sunset.

He wonders if all of it was worth it. He wonders if, given the second chance, he would do anything differently.

He remembers the rush of an exhilarating power, of being big, bigger than any danger the world could ever throw at him.

He remembers the laughter around the dinner table and warm, supporting hands on his shoulders.

He feels the soft sand beneath his fingers.

He makes up his mind, and he sun sets.

He goes.


End file.
